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THE  SPINNING 
WOMAN  OF  THE  SKY 
POEMS 


BY 
ALICE  CORBIN 


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US^.T.  I'l.  ■m't^:jWwa«ia»yil^.ujlU-<»«>/Jii|^X^w^^ 


THE  SPINNING 
WOMAN  OF  THE  SKY 
POEMS 

BY 
ALICE  CORBIN 

W/A  an  original  lithograph  by 
Wilh'amPenhallowHenclerson 


THE    RALPH    FLETCHER    SEYMOUR    CO. 
FINE   ARTS    BUILDING  CHICAGO 


Copyrieht  19i; 
Br  Alice  Corbin  Hendekson 


Entered  al  Stationer's  Hal 
London,  Eneland 


Pabliihed  December,  1912 


To  A.  W.  R.  MAi^J 

As  to  a  living  spirit^  which  no  grave 
Can  mark  the  compass  of —  this  life  you  gave, 
These  fadeless  flowers,  these  carven  lines  I  bring: 
Accept  this  votive,  living  offering. 


345195 


And  an  old  man  appeared  out  of  the  dusk. 

With  the  odor  of  twilight  and  a  forgotten  char/n. 

And  lured  me  away  o'er  the  transient  seas 

That  moved  as  the  hills  of  the  earth. 

I  forgot  then  my  name  and  my  destiny. 

But  my  name  and  my  destiny  followed  afar 

Crying,  "Follow  the  old  man  with  the  white  hair. 

And  we  follow  ivith  thee." 

"Who  is  the  old  man  with  the  white  hair?"  said  my  dream, 

And  my  name  and  my  destiny  ansiuered  and  said, 

"Oh,  he  is  the  father  of  Muses  and  Norns, 

The  father  of  even  Apollo." 

So  forgetting  my  name  and  my  destiny. 

These  forgot  not,  but  moved  over  the  transient  seas. 

And  I  found  them  at  last  where  the  pale  moon  in  water 

Endures  till  the  tablets  of  earth  are  no  more. 


The  author  thanks  the  editor  of  the  Century  Magazine 
for  permission  to  reprint  fVhat  Dim  ArcaJian  Pastures, 
and  the  editor  of  Poetry  for  permission  to  reprint  America, 
The  Star,  Symbols,  and  Nodes. 


Table  of  Contents 


I. 

Sing,  Silver  Harp    15 

The  Spinning  Woman  of  the  Sky 17 

The  Lyre 18 

The   Silver   Ball 20 

The  Eternal  Idol   21 

What  Dim  Arcadian  Pastures 23 

Adonis   . 24 

Rodin's  Eve   26 

Shades    27 


II. 

World's  End   31 

O  Shadows  of  Moving  Waters. 32 

Moon  of  Peace 33 

Grey  Woods  34 

The  Cup  Bearer 35 

The   House   of   Aengus    36 

The   Pomegranate    37 

Song    38 

Sea  Music    39 

The  Hollow  Wood  41 

Kinship 42 

As  on  a  Dusky  Arras i 43 

Symbols    44 


III. 

America  47 

To  the  Rulers  of  Modem  Nations 48 

Daphne   49 

Modernity 50 


IV. 

Jehovah    53 

St.  John's  Eve 54 

The  Failing;  Moon    55 

The  Star 57 

Nodes   58 

The  Song  of  the  Moon 59 

The  Harp  of  the  Ancients 60 


THE  SPINNING  WOMAN 
OF  THE  SKY 


I. 


SING,  SILVER  HARP. 


Sing,  silver  harp, 
With  golden  strings, 
Awaken  the  memory 
Of  all  dim  things. 

Golden  the  harmony, 
Golden  the  strings. 
Silver  the  harp. 
And  the  dove's  grey  wings. 

Music  of  laughing 
Or  sleeping  or  crying. 
Notes  that  are  rising 
Or  falling  or  dying 

Leap  into  being, 
And  dreams  are  stirred. 
As  some  dim  pool 
By  a  flitting  bird; 

Cloudy  visions, 
And  memories  deep. 
Low  as  laughter. 
And  faint  as  sleep. 


15 


Shadowy  faces 
Known  in  dream, 
Pass  as  petals 
Upon  a  stream. 

Sing,  silver  harp, 
With  golden  strings, 
Awaken  the  memory 
Of  all  dim  things. 


16 


THE  SPINNING  WOMAN  OF  THE  SKY. 

I  have  heard  the  spinning  woman  of  the  sky, 

Who  sings  as  she  spins, 
No  one  knows  where  my  web  ends, 

Or  zvhere  it  begins. 

For  the  thin-spun,  glistening,  silver  thread 

Out  of  her  breast  is  drawn, 
And  her  white  feet  caught  in  the  silver  web, 

Through  dark  and  dawn. 

Weary  of  time  and  the  spinning. 

She  sings  as  she  spins, 
/  do  not  know  where  my  web  ends, 
♦      Or  where  it  begins. 


17 


THE  LYRE. 

Autumn  color  and  twilight  moon, 

Thin-blown  leaves,  and  a  twisted  fire 

Climbing  the  edge  of  the  waves  to  the  moon ; 

Slender  and  thin  as  a  silver  wire, 

The  voice  of  the  moon,  and  the  keen  desire 

That  calls  through  birches  and  delicate  laces 

Of  pale  gold  leaves,  invisible  faces 

Of  lovers  that  linger  where  daylight  w^anes 

For  the  ancient  showers  and  liquid  rains 

That  the  full  moon  pours  through  the  fragile  veins. 

From  the  rose-colored  dreams  of  day, 

To  the  wave-swept  sands  of  the  shore, 

Secretly,  shadovi^s  grey 

Steal  to  the  edge  of  the  shore, 

Steal  to  the  silver  sands, 

Lifting  their  fragile  hands: 

Give  us  the  tuisted  fire. 

Fill  us  with  old  desire. 

Moon   of  the  maddened  lyre. 

Moon   of  the  singing  wire! 

The  golden  leaves  grow  grey  and  fall. 
Twilight  dies  in  the  west, 
The  sea-gull  turns  to  the  wave  for  rest, 
The  land-bird  dips  to  the  sheltered   nest. 


18 


But  the  shadows  keep  their  quest, 

And  over  the  bared  breast, 

The  silver  arrows  fall; 

Still  the  liquid  fire 

Wakes  the  old  desire, 

Liquid  showers  and  liquid  rains 

Fill  the  heart  and  the  beating  veins. 


19 


THE  SILVER  BALL. 

Ever  before  my  feet  I  cast 

A  silver  ball; 
The  world  turns,  and  the  winds  cr}', 

And  the  seas  fall, 

But  ever  before  my  feet 

The  silver  ball 
Shows  me  a  path  of  light 

Where  the  stars  call. 

At  times  I  stand  in  the  midst 

Of  the  silver  ball, 
Radiant,  crystal  moon, 

Flooding  all; 

And  then,  so  small   at  my  feet, 

The  silver  ball 
I  catch  and  hurl  in  the  air 

Over  the  trees  tall; 

And  out  of  the  changing  world. 

The  silver  ball 
Guides   me  over  the   ancient  way 

Where  the  stars  call; 

And  never  I  turn  aside 

From  the  ancient  way, 
But  I  follow  the  silver  ball 

Night  and  day. 

20 


THE  ETERNAL  IDOL 

Pygmalion  Speaks 

At  the  white  stone  feet  of  the  goddess, 

I  cry  my  old  despair; 
Golden  and  silver  and  sapphire  lights 

Gleam  in  her  hair; 
Her  eyes  are  dull  with  the  longing 

Of  an  immortal  love, 
As  my  ears  are  deaf  with  the  music 

Of  the  silver-crowned   dove. 
In  the  rounded  arch  of  her  shoulder 

Is  the  zone  of  infinity. 
And  music  flows  like  water 

From  the  bended  plane  of  her  knee; 
Iler  waist   is  the  faint  horizon 

Where  night  and   day  are  drawn, 
Her  low  left  hip  is  the  twilight. 

And  her  right  hip  is  the  dawn. 
Her  breasts  are  hills  of  wisdom, 

And  the  pale  pink  rose 
Of  the  summit  is  veiled  with  marble. 

Where  the  color  comes  and  goes. 
That   the   eyes  of  the  unbelieving 

May  never  be  aware 
Of   the  life   that   breathes  in   the   subtle  veins 

And  awakens  the  old  despair. 
But  I  who  have  looked  with  the  longing 

That  only  a  god  could  bear, 


21 


From  the  white  feet  of  the  goddess, 
To  the  dim  pearls  in  her  hair. 

Press  longing  immortal  with  longing 
Where  the  delicate  pulses  heat, 

And   worship    eternal    beauty 
At  her  white  stone  feet. 


22 


WHAT  DIM  ARCADIAN  PASTURES. 

What   dim   Arcadian   pastures 

Have  I  known 
That  suddenly,  out  of  nothing, 

A  wind  is  blown, 
Lifting  a  veil  and  a  darkness. 
Showing  a  purple  sea  — 
And  under  your  hair  the  faun's  eyes 

Look  out  on  me? 


23 


ADONIS. 

Love  is  a  changing  lord, 

As  the  light  on  a  turning  sword, 

Changing  — 
Amethyst,  silver,  or  gold; 
As  fauns,  or  as  dr>-ads  of  old, 

Ranging  ; 
Careless  of  symbol  or  form, 
Coming  in  quiet  or  storm, 

Blowing 
Over  the  heart  like  a  wind, 
Nor  sorrowful,  nor  unkind. 

Going; 
Brilliant  and  gay  as  a  Greek 
Marble  that  seems  to  speak, 

Knowing 
All  that  the  flesh  would  fain ; 
As  the  waters  that  leave  no  stain. 

Flowing. 
He  who  would  seek  to  find 
Love,  must  go  seek  the  wind 

Flying 
High  above  whispering  strings. 
Far  from  all   mortal  things, 

Dying; 
He  who  would  seek  to  know 
Love,  be  content  to  go 

Veiling 


24 


Ever  his  eyes  from  blight, 

Up  where  the  dawn's  clear  light, 

Paling, 
Covers  the  stars  and   the  moon, 
Covers  the  sun  at  noon, 

Giving 
Essence  of  all  divine 
Lost  in  the  sense  of  time, 

Living. 
Life  that  is  but  a  breath. 
What,  then,  is  change,  or  death? 

Mortals, 
Loving  love  as  they  love  the  wind. 
Out  of  the  world,  and  the  world's  way  find 

Portals. 


25 


RODIN'S  EVE. 

This  is  the  mother  of  the  human  race. 
Standing  abashed  with  half-averted  face 
Before  the  glory  and  splendor  of  her  dream. 
In  her  the  vision  of  the  years  that  seem 
Now  girdled  in  dead  centuries  to  wind 
In  endless  flower-chains  about  the  mind  — 
Treacheries,  and  ecstacies,  and  darkened  rivers 
Of  crimson,  where  they  crucify  the  Givers; 
Her  beauty  is  by  far  more  perilous 
Than  that  of  her.  the  sometime  mother  of  us, 
Who  comes  amid  the  perfect  harmony 
Of  lips  and  loves,  and  dwells  in  ecstasy: 
More  infinite  her  labours  and  her  pains.  .  .  . 
The  seed  of  all  the  norld  is  in  her  veins.' 


26 


SHADES. 

Daphnis  and  Chloe  wandered  far 
Through  fields  of  asphodel, 
But  could  not  find  the  spot  on  earth 
Where  they  were  wont  to  dwell. 

A ;ul  ivas  it  here,  cried  Chloe,  pale 
As  wraith  of  morning  mist, 
IVe  ate  the  snoiv-white  curds,  and  you 
My  lips  and  eye-lids  kissedf 

Alas,  I  knoiu  not,  Daphnis  said, 

For  all  is  here  so  bright! 

Then  trembling  turned  with  clinging  hands, 

Ard  vanished  in  the  light. 


27 


II. 


WORLD'S  END. 

My  heart  that  was  so  careless  and  so  proud 
No  sorrow  might  find  place  in  it  to  rest, 
Has  passed  amid  the  sobbing,  changing  crowd 
Of  dreams  that  fade  and  die  in  the  dim  west. 
No  music  joyous  and  no  songs'  delight 
Awakens  the  dim  silence  of  the  sea 
That  drops  beyond  the  farthest  edge  of  night, 
And  circles  in  an  endless  reverie. 


31 


O  SHADOWS  OF  MOVING  WATERS. 

O  shadows  of  moving  waters, 

0  waves  that  are  never  at  rest, 

1  have  seen  the  pale  moon's  driven  horses 
That  hurr>-  away  to  the  west ; 

I  have  been  in  the  midst  of  your  forces, 
On  the  white  driven  foam  of  your  breast, 
And  the  dream  of  your  changing  faces 
Keeps  me  from  peace  and  from  rest. 


32 


MOON  OF  PEACE. 

Lap  me  in  scented  waters,  moon  of  peace, 
In  silver  waters  flowing  under  the  moon, 
For  now  the  water-bearer's  pouring  flood 
Pours  rivers  of  silver  peace  under  the  moon. 
The  dragon  is  killed,  the  archer's  arrow  sped, 
The  bearded  goat  has  trampled  out  the  wine, 
And  now  the  water-bearer's  pouring  flood 
Pours  rivers  of  silver  peace  and  silver  wine. 


33 


GREY  WOODS. 

Silence  is  heavy  and  somber  in  the  grey  woods, 
The  leaves  of  time  drop  stealthily  one  by  one; 
Dim  twilight  comes  with  a  shadowy  reaping  hook 
To  gather  the  fading  daylight  and  dead  leaves. 
Though  no  winds  blow  in  the  grey  woods  of  my  heart. 
The  leaves  of  time  drop  stealthily  one  by  one; 
A  shadowy  twilight  falls  over  the  shadowy  woods  — 
My  body  is  too  frail  for  its  great  moods. 


34 


THE  CUP-BEARER. 

One  is  cup-bearer,  one  the  cup; 
One  is  athirst,  and  one  must  drink; 
Oh,  hold  the  silver  vessel  up, 
And  I  w^ill  fill  it  to  the  brink! 


3S 


THE  HOUSE  OF  AENGUS. 

Love  came  into  his  secret  house, 

His  tower  of  glass,  at  the  fall  of  night, 

Where  there  is  neither  sun  nor  moon, 

Wind  nor  wave,  but  a  world  of  light. 

Love  came  into  his  secret  house, 

Deep  in  the  world,  under  the  wave. 

And  the  stars  fell  down  from  the  trembling  roof, 

And  the  harp  that  Etain  gave 

Quivered  and  wakened  and  all  its  strings 

Whispered  and  sang  with  a  wild  delight, 

When  Love  came  into  his  secret  house, 

His  tower  of  glass,  at  the  fall  of  night. 


36 


THE  POMEGRANATE. 

A  little  while  our  joy  was  twain, 
But  now  my  separate  self  is  slain. 
A  druid  by  the  waters  old, 
In  robes  of  white  and  reddened  gold, 
Who,  in  the  wonder  and  the  dark 
And  vague  faint  mystery-  of  the  ark, 
Beheld  all  nature  change  and  burn, 
And  was  a  sword  or  wave  by  turn, 
Did  not  with  a  more  sacred  rite 
His  soul  to  that  far  soul  unite. 
A  little  while  our  joy  was  twain, 
But  now  my  separate  self  is  slain; 
The  fruit  is  ripened  and  the  seed 
Is  floating  over  rush  and  reed, 
The  plastic  world  is  molded  fresh 
With  but  one  body  and  one  flesh; 
I  only  know  your  joy,  your  pain 
Because  my  separate  self  is  slain. 


37 


SONG. 

You  arc  more  golden  than  leaves, 

More  lyrical  than  light; 
More  brilliant  than  the  high  noon-day, 

Or  the  sun  in  his  might. 

I  am  more  silver  than  waves, 

More  pale  than  night, 
More  sad  than  the  waning  moon 

In  the  grey  dawn's  light. 

But  I  shine  through  your  golden  leaves, 

And  I  sing  in  your  light, 
And  the  earth  will  remember  our  history 

Many  a  long  night. 


38 


SEA  MUSIC. 

O  waters  white  with  human  sacrifice, 

O  waves  that  rear  your  bosoms  in  the  sun, 

Proud  is  your  plastic  music,  O  white  waves  — 

White  breasts,  white  hips,  white  shoulders,  flowing  hair, 

Your  voice  forever  calling  —  O  white  waves, 

The  white  line  of  your  shore  is  filled  with  spirits 

That  rise  from  out  the  mist  on  moonlit  nights; 

O  white  waves  calling  ever  under  the  moon. 

And  luring  to  an  unicnown  sacrifice. 

White  are  the  bones  that  lie  beneath  the  surface, 

Whiter  than  sands  of  moonlight  on  the  shore; 

In  the  tumultuous  life  of  moving  waters 

The  secret  of  the  world  is  hidden  away. 

And  even  now  the  waters  dim  are  calling. 

And  luring  to  an  unknown  sacrifice ; 

The  air  is  still  and  quiet,  as  with  vision. 

But  now  and  then  a  foot  moves  in  the  waves, 

The  white  foot  of  a  goddess;  and  the  voice 

Of  ancient  waters  brooding  over  the  world 

Laps  on  the  shore  and  lures  to  sacrifice. 

Older  than  nature,  mother  even  of  nature, 

Your  white  feet  turn  and  leave  no  trace  behind, 

And  nature's  children,  weary  of  her  kisses, 

Are  fain  in  you  to  wash  away  all  stain ; 

O  white  waves  calling,  calling  under  the  moon. 


39 


O  buried  breasts  and  knees  that  make  a  bed 
Softer  than  vision  and  as  cool  as  marble, 
Your  voice  forever  calling,   O  white  waves, 
Laps  on  the  shore  and  lures  to  sacrifice. 


40 


THE  HOLLOW  WOOD. 

Rcve  Celtique. 

Grey  woods  and  waters  where  the  brown  bird  leaves 
Its  shadow  for  a  moment  on  the  pool ; 
Then  silence,  save  a  little  wind  that  grieves 
Among  the  reeds  and  waving  grasses  cool  — 

This  dim  forgotten  land  where  no  man  dwells, 
But  ruin,  desolation,  and  despair, 
A  sound  of  sea-drowned  music,  sunken  bells. 
The  burial  of  all  things  bright  and  fair, 

This  place  of  old,  forgotten  ecstacies. 

This  ancient  place  of  unremembered  things, 

Sad  when  the  wind  sighs  through  the  waiting  trees. 

Sadder  than  ever  when  the  brown  bird  sings  — 

For  Danu,  Lir,  and  Cleena  with  light  feet, 
Who  tossed  the  bubble  of  the  world  away, 
And  with  light  laughter,  music  low  and  sweet, 
Covered  it  over  and  left  it  till  a  day, 

Have  vanished  with  their  softly  waving  spells, 
Their  flame-white  dances  and  bright  hair  wind-tossed 
Sadder  than  deaths  the  wars  of  worlds  have  cost, 
The  keening  of  the  wind  in  these  low  dells: 

While  we  have  turned  from  beauty  and  have  lost 
Our  sense  of  ancient  kinship  with  the  earth, 
Under  the  running  wave  the  flaming  host 
Dance  in  the  heart  of  time  and  know  no  birth. 


41 


KINSHIP. 

I  am  still  climbing  the  upward  path,  but  soon  I  shall  go 
down, 

Down  unto  the  silence  and  the  deep  peace  underground  ; 

Though  still  the  morning  beckons  and  the  air  is  incense- 
crowned, 

Deep,  deep  within  my  heart's  curved  shell,  I  hear  a  rushing 
sound ; 

A  cry  of  million  voices  and  a  sound  of  million  feet. 
In  air,  on  earth,  and  in  the  sea  where  waving  branches  are; 
When  deep  the  earth  lies  over  me,  I  shall  not  grieve  afar, 
But  turn  and  touch,  though  lying  there,  the  farthest  shining 
star. 


42 


AS  ON  A  DUSKY  ARRAS. 

As  on  a  dusky  arras, 

The  Lords  of  Shadow  go, 
With  vague  and  tremulous  movement, 

Passing  to  and  fro. 

Some  with  crowned  helmets, 

Pale  or  ruby  gold, 
Some  with  cross  and  crozier, 

Shepherds  of  the  fold, 

Some  with  flowing  gesture, 

Some  in  silence  white. 
Lovers  pale  but  glowing  still 

With  a  wan  delight. 

They  drift  and  pass  and  vanish, 

And  my  heart  streams  there 
In  shapes  of  unknown  beauty 

Upon  the  twilight  air; 

But  lest  I  too  turn  shadow, 

And  fall  in  flaming  dew, 
Before  the  outworn  vesture 

Be  fit  for  senses  new, 

I  part  the  dusky  arras. 

Where,  passing  to  and  fro, 
With  vague  and  tremulous  movem^ent. 

The  Lords  of  Shadow  go. 


43 


SYMBOLS 

Who  was  it  built  the  cradle  of  wrought  gold? 

A  druid,  chanting  by  the  waters  old. 

Who  was  it  kept  the  sword  of   vision   bright? 

A  warrior,  falling  darkly  in  the  fight. 

Who  was  it  put  the  crown  upon  the  dove? 

A  woman,  paling  in  the  arms  of  love. 

Oh,   who  but  these,  since  Adam  ceased  to  be, 

Have  kept   their   ancient   guard    about   the   Tree? 


44 


III. 


AMERICA. 

/  hear  America  singing. 

And  the  great  prophet  passed, 
Serene,  clear,  and  untroubled, 
Into  the  silence  vast. 

When  will  the  master  poet 
Rise  with  vision  strong 
To  mold  her  manifold  music 
Into  a  living  song? 

/  hear  America  singing. 

Beyond  the  beat  and  stress, 

The  chant  of  her  shrill,  unjaded, 

Empiric  loveliness. 

Laughter,  beyond  mere  scorning. 
Wisdom  surpassing  wit, 
Love,  and  the  unscathed  spirit. 
These  shall  encompass  it. 


47 


TO  THE  RULERS  OF  MODERN  NATIONS. 

Not  by  too  tardy  gifts  may  ye  atone 

The  negligence  with  which  ye  greet  the  young  men. 

Whose  hearts  are  high,  w-hose  words  go  up  in  song, 

To  whom  your  storied  memories  belong, 

And  who  may  slight,  when  slight  is  all  their  wage, 

And  ye  be  mocked  by  simplest  fool  and  sage. 

If  ye  would  live  in  monument  of  stone, 

Take  heed  the  greeting  that  ye  give  the  young  men ; 

Theirs  is  a  weightier  and  more  high  emprise 

Than  all  your  bargaining  of  merchandise; 

'Tis  theirs  to  wring  some  meaning  from  the  sky 

Why  ye  should  live,  or  dying,  should  not  die. 

If  ye  would  die  in  time's  oblivion. 

Then  greet,  as  now,  with  negligence,  the  young  men 

If  ye  would  live  memento  of  their  rage, 

Give  no  bold  answer  to  their  far-flung  gage; 

Theirs  is  the  cup,  but  yours  the  final  doom  — 

The  words  they  write  in  scorn  upon  your  tomb. 


4S 


DAPHNE. 

But  thou  shalt  ever  lie  dead,  nor  shall  there  be  any  re- 
membrance of  thee  then  or  thereafter,  for  thou  hast  not  of 
the  roses  of  Pieria  .... 

— Sappho  to  a  Good  Housekeeper. 

What  greater  grief  could  be 
Than  to  be  born  a  poet  —  and  a  woman ! 
To  have  to  mind  the  trivial  daily  tasks 
That  bind  the  heart  from  revery  and  dream, 
Or^  else  to  earn  the  scorn  of  the  w^hole  world ! 
And  yet  the  world  will  marvel  that  no  woman 
Achieves  the  artist's  laurel ! .  .  .  . 

Ah,  Daphne! 
Who  fled  before  the  bright  beams  of  Apollo. 
Transfixed  at  last  in  his  own  clinging  laurel! 

Thus  is  it  to  stand  rooted  deep  in  life, 

Yet  wrapped  in  green  flame  of  the  clinging  laurel. 


49 


MODERNITY. 

Dedicated  to  the  Zeitgeist. 

There  is  no  such  thing 

As  your  far-famed  modernity. 

Your  rearing  catapults  of  iron  and  steel, 

Your  bruited  brunt 

Of  traffic,  toil,  and  havoc, 

Your  impact  of  metals. 

The  hue  and  cry  of  concrete  monoliths, 

— No  newer  these  than  Egypt's  pyramids. 

Or  Asia's  discards  of  imagination. 

This  piquant  brotherhood  of  man  and  man, 
— How  the  old  sages  of  the  earth  must  laugh ! 

How  whimsical  to  the  enfranchised  spirit 
The  strides  gigantic  of  art's  modern  progress! 

In  one  brief  moment  of  contemporary 

Time 

Our  uncouth  efforts; 

While  Tahitian  girls 

Weave  coral  poppies  in  their  cloudy  hair. 

And  to  an  unknown  music,  haunting,  strange, 

Cambodgienne  dancers  of  the  golden  age 

Confuse  chronology  .... 

Modernit\ .' 


50 


IV. 


JEHOVAH 


God  the  Omnipotent, 
How  Thy  purpose  fails! 
How  little  all 
Thy  thundering  speech  avails : 

For  somewhere  in 
The  heart  of  man  and  beast, 
Thy  word  of  famine 
Turneth  to  a  feast; 

And  even  while 

The  Soul  of  nature  bleeds. 

On  lilies  white 

It  pastureth  and  feeds. 


53 


ST.  JOHN'S  EVE. 

Over  the  valley  and  on  the  hill  — 
Rock-scarred  ribs  of  the  ancient  sire  — 
Sire  and  mother  and  child  in  one; 
Fin,   primeval  fire! 

Flaunting  flames  to  the  high  clouds  flung, 
Vain  and  futile  their  fretful  ire, 
Summer  is  come  and  the  harvest  won ; 
Fire,   primeval  fire! 

Fruitful  passion  of  earth  and  tree  — 
Dancing  shadows  about  the  pire. 
Buds  that  blossom  and  maids  that  flower ; 
Fire,   primeval  fire! 


Bidart,  Pays  Basque. 


54 


THE  FAILING  MOON. 

Last  night  I  saw  the  failing  moon 
Scatter  its  petals  through  the  sky, 
And  all  the  heavenly  gardens  shook, 
As  though  a  wind  went  by. 

And  all  the  petals  of  the  sea 
Cast  upward  on  the  pulsing  sand. 
Were  white  as  at  the  touch  of  death, 
That  nothing  can  withstand  ; 

Throughout   the   whole  world,    sick   with   dread. 
Swiftly  an  aching  pallor  ran; 
The  world  was  dead,  dead  —  all  was  dead 
Since  first  slow  time  began. 

That  loving  face  Earth  used  to  wear 
Midst  tender  green  and  blue  of  flowers. 
Of  mortal  fairness,  mortal  sweet. 
Was  but  a  dream  of  ours; 

A  childish  fantasy  of  play 
That  turns  to  life  some  happy  spot, 
Thereafter  dead,  as  long  before  — 
The  brightness  lingers  not. 

For  here  beneath  my  trembling  feet. 
Earth's  face  shows  lifeless,  overcast 
With  shadows  of  some  dreaming  world, 
Prophetic,  or  long  past ; 


55 


Some  other  dream,  some  other  world 
Gave  life  and  passion  birth, 
And  ours  it  is  to  love  and  live 
And   perish   with   the   earth. 

Ah,  long  ago,  who  was  it  cast 
A  thought  into   the  void   of  space 
That  made  the  earth  and  made  the  stars 
And  made  each  little  place 

Aflame  with  life,  and  then  forgot, 
As  children  in  a  race. 
That  now  we  wait,  as  some  old   house, 
For  a  familiar  face? 


56 


THE  STAR. 

I  saw  a  star  fall  in  the  night, 
And  a  grey  moth  touched  my  cheek; 
Such  majesty  immortals  have, 
Such  pity  for  the  weak. 


57 


NODES. 

The  endless,  foolish  merriment  of  stars 
Beside  the  pale  cold  sorrow  of  the  moon, 
Is  like  the  wayward  noises  of  the  world 
Beside  my  heart's  uplifted  silent  tune. 

The  little  broken  glitter  of  the  waves 
Beside  the  golden  sun's  intense  white  blaze, 
Is  like  the  idle  chatter  of  the  crowd 
Beside  my  heart's  unwearied  song  of  praise. 

The  sun  and  all  the  planets  in  the  sky 

Beside  the  sacred  wonder  of  dim  space, 

Are  notes  upon  a  broken,  tarnished  lute 

That  God  will  some  day  mend  and  put  in  place. 

And  space,  beside  the  little  secret  joy 
Of  God  that  sings  forever  in  the  clay, 
Is  smaller  than  the  dust  we  can  not  see. 
That  yet  dies  not,  till  time  and  space  decay. 

And  as  the  foolish  merriment  of  stars 
Beside  the  cold  pale  sorrow^  of  the  moon, 
My  little  song,  my  little  joy,  my  praise, 
Beside  God's  ancient,  everlasting  rune. 


58 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  MOON. 

Clouds  like  the  petals  of  a  rose, 
Open  slowly  and  disclose 
The  golden  heart  of  the  moon ; 
The  waves  grow  soft  upon  the  sand, 
The  wind  dies  down  upon  the  land, 
Beauty  and  silence  weave  a  tune 
Out  of  the  petals  of  the  moon. 

Over  the  breasts  of  waves, 

Her  petals  fall ; 

Silvery  crested  billows 

Meet  and  melt  in  her  soft  embrace  ; 

Pale  and  proud  as  a  woman,  her  face 

Shines  through  the  misty  willows. 

O  golden  heart  of  the  moon! 

Whispers  the  leafy  tune; 

And  the  pine-trees  tall 

Reach  high  and  call 

Till   over   them    lightly   as   soft    as   day, 

Or  rose-colored  blossoms  of  the  May, 

Over  the  pine-trees  dark  and  tall. 

The  golden  petals  fall. 


59 


THE  HARP  OF  THE  ANCIENTS. 

The  world  is  an  organ  outside  tonight, 
When  the  tall  trees  bend,  and  the  wind's  aw; 
Playing  its  master  harmonies 
On  the  harp  that  must  quaver  or  break! 

The  world  is  an  organ,  and  all  night  long 
I  lie  and  listen  to  the  song; 
For  I  can  not  sleep,  for  I  fear  I  would  dream 
And  wake  to  the  sound  of  the  organ's  scream. 

O  Powers  that  live  in  the  raging  wind, 
Lie  down  in  peace,  for  the  lion  and  lamb 
No  longer  quarrel,  and  God  indeed 
Lives  in  the  oak  and  the  sapling  and  reed  ; 

Will  ye  not  cease  from  your  warring  now. 
And  let  peace  come  to  the  bending  bough, 
To  the  wave  that  beats  on  the  quiet  shore — 
Bring  peace  to  her  bosom  forevermore? 


60 


Aloof,  afar,  the  weary  feet  of  Time 

Come  slowly   down  across  the  eastern   mountains. 

And  find  me  grinding  corn  and  drawing  water. 

And  passing  in  contentment  all  my  days. 

Yet  am  I  not  unconscious  of  the  dawn. 

And  lift  my  eyes  sometimes  to  the  sublime 

Shadow'  upon  the  mountains,  where  I  see 

As  one  who  fain  tvould  postpone  destiny, 

The  laggard  and  unwilling  feet  of   Time, 

The  weary   feet    of   Time   upon    flu     .nnjnUiins. 


61 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN      INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
TH,S  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PE.^LTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
SCeRD^^     -     -•-     -     r..     SEVENTH     Z^ 


MAR    6     1933 
MAR    7   1933 


J. 


DEC  19 1969     f 

REco  U3  aa^  5.59 ,2p^ 


N0V28l9e6 


SENT  ON  ILL 

"^^AN  2  p;fio7 

U.C.  BERKELEY 


.^..ca     OCTl 


81985 


^^mmx 


LD  21-50m-l,'33 


/  V  '. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


BQDD732iaO 


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